


The Nothing I Wanted to Tell You

by Graceless_Grace



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Confessions, Fever, High fever, M/M, Sickfic, boyf riends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:55:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graceless_Grace/pseuds/Graceless_Grace
Summary: A few months after the SQUIP incident, Jeremy gets a fever, leaving Michael to take care of him. As his fever rises, Jeremy begins to break down in front of his best friend in a way Michael never would have imagined.





	1. The Fever Starts...

Since the SQUIP shut down, Michael had begun clinging to Jeremy. Every headache, every growing pain (because somehow that beanpole still got growing pains every now and again), every fit of tears… Michael Mell was always there. 

True, in the past he had still always been by Jeremy’s side, but now he would hover like a mother hen. At first both Michael and Jeremy had been frazzeled, and would worry endlessly over minor aches and pains. Not to mention Jeremy’s increasing panic attacks. But after a few months, Jeremy’s fears began to dwindle away. 

Michael’s didn’t. 

Which is why it made so much more sense that Michael kept hovering, despite Jeremy’s protests. 

“It’s just a cough, Michael!” Jeremy whined, although he couldn’t deny the wheeze in his voice. Michael just rolled his eyes and pressed the back of his hand to Jeremy’s forehead, forehead scrunched up with worry. 

“You’re not warm…” He admitted, “but something feels off.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and picked up his controlled, returning to the game. “Michael, I appreciate this, man, but if I feel actually sick I’ll let you know. Now c’mon! We’re winning this time for sure!”

A few hours later, Jeremy set down his controller in favor of resting his head on Michael’s shoulder. He let out a hoarse sigh, snuggling into the fabric of Michael’s jacket. He smelled so nice all the time, not girly, but nice. Pleasant. 

“Jeremy? Buddy?” Michael prompted, pausing the game. “You ok?”

Jeremy hummed in response. “Mhmm… head hurts a little.”

Just like that, Michael was back on Mother Hen Mode. “Jeremy. Look at me for a second.” He pressed his hands to his forehead, followed by his cheeks, which were now a flushed rose color, and the back of Jeremy’s neck.

“Fuck, you have a fever.” Michael sighed, pulling Jeremy to his feet. “Bed. Now.” Jeremy let out a long, drawn-out whine in protest, body going slack.  
“Noooo, Michael, I’m okay! I wanna keep playing!”

Michael sighed, shaking his head. “No, Jeremy, dude, you gotta sleep to get rid of that fever.” He stopped, pushing a section of Jeremy’s curly hair out of his eyes. God, his eyes… they were usually so bright and happy, and now they were beginning to cloud over with fever. “I knew you caught a bug,” he mumbled, pulling his best friend to his feet. 

Fuck, Jeremy was fading fast. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Mmm-Michael,” Jeremy moaned, sputtering wetly into the air. 

“Yes?” Michael couldn’t help but smile at how childish Jeremy was acting, despite the worry coursing through him at the thought of Jeremy getting hurt. Again.  
He helped Jeremy to his bed, pulling a pair of sweatpants onto his shivering form. Michael blushed at the sight of Jeremy’s boxers, and tied the tie on the waistline of the pants as quickly as possible. He left Jeremy’s t-shirt on him, and pulled the comforter up to his chin. Jeremy had more or less fallen asleep, mumbling nonsense about the game they had been playing as he dozed. 

Michael smiled again. God, he was so cute. 

Of course, Michael would never say that. He had never really come out to Jeremy, although they both knew the truth. But Jeremy was still convinced he only liked girls, and no matter how many suspicions Michael had in regards to his best friend’s sexuality, he knew that above all else it wasn’t his place to judge or assume. If Jeremy was bi, or gay, or anything else other than straight, Michael knew he would want to realize that himself. And probably tell his best friend himself, too. So Michael didn’t push it. Not at all. 

Instead, he sad on the edge of the bed, stroking Jeremy’s cheek lovingly, the way any best friend would do if their other half (platonically, of course) was down for the count. After an hour of gentle, loving touches, Michael moved from Jeremy’s side to bathroom, both to relieve himself and to find the thermometer. Jeremy didn’t feel too warm just yet, but Michael didn’t like the flush of his cheeks, and would at least feel better with a number to attach to his temperature. 

As it turns out, Jeremy had a fever of 100.6°F, which wasn’t great considering Jeremy tended to run lower-than-normal temperatures, usually around 96.2°F.  
“Alright, not too bad, this is fine,” Michael sighed. “You can handle this, Mell.”

He glanced back at Jeremy, who’s mumbling had died down about 20 minutes ago in favor of raspy breathing through his mouth. 

“After all,” Michael muttered, turning back to Jeremy. “You do love this boy. Even if he doesn’t know it.”


	2. ...and rises...

Jeremy got worse before he got better. 

The wheeze in his lunch developed into a dry cough, the kind that could force him to double over without warning, even in his sleep. His skin was hot and dry, tiny scars forming on his back from twisting around in his sleep with such a fever. And worse still, he was growing far more delusional than before.

Michael was justifiably worried. 

Despite his worry, Michael was doing a rather good job at looking after Jeremy. He pulled the sheets back when Jeremy got too warm, and covered him back up when shivers overtook his ailing body. Michael made him tea and forced water down his throat every hour, and tried his best to not kill his best friend - or, rather, not let him die from whatever the hell was ravaging through his immune system. He’d never seen a kid so sick so fast. Damn. 

It was around midnight when Jeremy’s fever-bright eyes cracked open; Michael melted at the sight. He was so pale and shivery and so clearly unwell, and Michael Mell wanted nothing more than to hold him close and make him better. He couldn’t, he knew that, but fuck, he hated seeing Jeremy like this. 

“Hey, buddy,” He whispered, pushing a lock of sweaty hair from Jeremy’s eyes.

Jeremy groaned softly in response. “Michael?” he coughed. “I don’t feel so good.”

Michel let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, buddy, I know.”

Alarm bells went off in Jeremy’s head. Michael never called him affectionate nicknames one after the other. Never repeated them. He would call him an asshole or a furry as a joke, and, one time when they were exceptionally high, Michael called him sweetheart. But never buddy, and never twice.

“Wh’s goin’ on?” he slurred, sitting up. The room tilted, and before he could get an answer Michael’s arms had engulfed his shaking frame, steadying him before he even knew he had been falling out of bed. “Michael?” he tried again. 

Those same strong, wonderful arms wrapped around the middle of Jeremy’s body, just below his belly button. Michael had wedged himself between a mound of pillows and Jeremy, helping him to sit without any vertigo. 

“You’re sick.” Michael pressed his forehead gently to the back of Jeremy’s neck. “Remember? You got a fever last night when we were playing.” 

Jeremy sighed, then coughed into his hand, his entire body shaking with the force of it. Once he was done, he slumped against Michael, panting.   
“Are you ok?” Michael asked, rubbing Jeremy’s sweat-soaked shoulders. 

“Huugmmn…” Michael stifled a laugh. Jeremy was the master of weird noises, even if he was running a fever. Speaking of which, Michael couldn’t help but notice how much warmer Jeremy seemed compared to the last time he’d taken his temperature. 

“What’s that sound mean?” Michael smiled, reaching for the thermometer. 

“’m achy,” Jeremy moaned. “I don’t feel good, Michael Mell.” 

Michael giggled again. “Full name? You really don’t feel well.” 

Jeremy groaned again in response, leaning back with his full weight again Michael as he slipped the thermometer under his tongue. He continued making exacerbated noises to show he was unhappy with the fact that Michael even felt the need to take his temperature. 

“102.4°F,” Michael sighed. “I’m sorry you’re sick.”

Rather than replying, Jeremy turned to his side, pulling Micheal close, so the two boys were spooning. 

“Jeremy?” Michael asked, tentatively wrapping an arm around Jeremy’s stomach.   
Jeremy let out a soft snore, sputtering a touch as Michael rubbed a hand over the soft skin of his stomach. He sounded almost like a baby kitten, mewling softly in his sleep whenever Michael touched him, but never waking. 

Michael took full advantage of this. He rubbed circles on Jeremy’s soft stomach, rubbed his arms, pressed a single, gentle kiss against his cheek, just under his right eye.

That’s when he felt it. 

Tears were beginning to drip down Jeremy’s face, hot against his dry, dry skin. Michael shot up, eyes wide with fear. He fixed his glasses and pulled Jeremy into his arms, rocking him gently. 

“Jeremy? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He combed a hand through Jeremy’s hair, which was now fuzzy and wet from sweat. “Are you in pain? What hurts? Oh, god,” he had a realized one of his greatest fears could be coming true. No. No, right? There… there was no way… “Is it the SQUIP? Jeremy you need to tell me if you hear the SQUIP or- or if your head hurts. Please.”

Instead of responding, Jeremy gave into his tears, sobbing loudly against Michael’s side. His cheeks were a fiery red, skin flaking from the heat inside him, eyes wide and watery. 

Once Michael realized he was talking between cries, he took a deep breath, and slowly peeled Jeremy from his side. “You have to tell me what’s wrong, Jeremy, please. Let me help you.” 

“I hurt Micheal!” Jeremy wailed, breath coming in short, angry rasps. He was crying so hard that he was beginning to suffocate, the fever clouding his judgement.   
“No, no, no, Jeremy, you didn’t hurt me, I’m right here, I’m okay, it’s okay, just breathe.” 

Jeremy continued gasping and sobbing, coughs ripping from his throat, and somehow managing, still, to shout apologies. 

“I l-left you alone a-a-a-nd the party in the bathr-room and I called yu-ou such awful things, ah-I’m awwful!” 

Micheal frowned, pressing his hands against Jeremy’s forehead, his cheeks, the back of his neck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

“You’re burning up!” 

The heat was overwhelming once Michael realized just how hot Jeremy was. Michael grabbed the thermometer and tissues. He dabbed at Jeremy’s watery eyes, even as he continued sobbing, and tried his best to coax the thermometer under his tongue. 

As Michael tried to push it past Jeremy’s lips, the feverish boy continued to cry about the events of the Halloween party. But he was clearly getting worse. Jeremy was now talking about Michael as if he wasn’t right there, stroking his cheek and holding the thermometer in place. 

“He hates, me, Michael probably hates me, he won’t like me anymore because I yelled an’ called ‘im a loser and made h’m feel s’ bad!”

Michael forced his own tear back, petting Jeremy’s hair and holding the thermometer still. “I know,” he said lovingly, “ But I promise that I- that he doesn’t hate you. Michael could never hate you.” 

“I’m an awful person!” Jeremy continued to cry, “I need to suffer, I need to f-feel as ba-a-ad as he did b’cause I can’t… I can’t… Miiiichael!” 

He was turning blue, practically, still sobbing as Michael read the thermometer. 

103.9°F.

Michael hushed Jeremy’s sobs as best he could, focusing all his energy on cooling him down. He laid a damp cloth across his forehead, and pressed ice packs under his armpits, under his back. He even managed to get him to swallow some pills and half a bottle of water. 

He would have been happier if Jeremy could have downed the whole bottle, but he knew too much water could have bad results, and that a fever this high could make Jeremy’s stomach upset. 

And better still, Jeremy’s sobs had quieted since Michael began cooling him down. 

“How are you feeling?” Michael mumbled, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. 

“He hates me.” 

“He doesn’t. Why would he-”

Jeremy cut him off, delirious and half asleep. “I love him so much, I can’t stand him not loving me too.”


	3. ...and finally comes back down to earth.

Michael blinked once. Twice. 

He couldn’t have heard that right. No fucking way. 

“W-what did you just say?” he stammered, dropping the cold cloth he had be using to wipe down Jeremy’s sweaty cheeks. 

“I _love_ Michael Mell,” Jeremy sobbed, huge, hot tears continuing to dribble down his face. “I hurt him, I hu-urt Michael, I hu-u-urt-- I hurt...” he trailed off, as if suddenly realizing something incredible simple. “I... _I hurt_. Michael? I don’t feel, something’s not- something’s wrong.”

* * *

 

That brought Michael right back to reality. On one hand, Jeremy seemed to realize that he was talking to Michael, but on the other hand, he said something felt _off_. Off? What did that even mean? Oh, god , what if something was really, really wrong?

Michael was at Jeremy’s side in an instant. 

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled, running his fingers through the sweaty, greasy mop that was Jeremy’s hair. “Is it your stomach? Your head?”

Jeremy swallowed thickly, and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m dizzy,” he admitted. “Feels like ‘m gonna pass out.”

Michael’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. “Okay,” he said, “okay. We can deal with this, okay? I’m gonna take your temperature again, and you’re gonna take a few more pills, and some water, and we’re gonna cool you down, okay?”

“You’re saying okay a l’t, are you okay?” Jeremy tried his best to crack a smile. The remains of his tears clung to his long lashes, pressed up against flushed, feverish cheeks. Even like this, he was the most beautiful boy Michael had ever seen. He let out a chuckle, rubbing a calloused thumb over the center of Jeremy’s forehead. 

“Yeah.” Michael, for the umpteenth time, slid the thermometer between Jeremy’s lips, under his tongue. “I’m okay. You still don’t look so hot, but I’m okay.”

Jeremy fell asleep before Michael could get the new reading on his temperature, which turned out to be 104.7°F. 

Jeremy was dead asleep; Michael couldn’t get him to wake up long enough to take any pills or swallow any water, but he wasn’t as emotional as before, which Michael was grateful for. He wasn’t sure his heart cold take much more of Jeremy’s feverish ramblings. They brought up too many questions for him, too many things he knew he couldn’t answer. 

What did Jeremy mean when he said he loved him? There was no way... right? How could Jeremy possibly love Michael back? He was so not into him. Michael put on a brave face most of the time, but truthfully, he carried the words Jeremy said to him at Jake’s Halloween party in the back of his head. He _knew_  that it wasn’t really Jeremy. It was the SQUIP and the alcohol and the Optic Nerve Blocking. He knew that. 

But that night, in the bathroom... he felt like the most worthless person in the world. Nobody really knew who he was. Nobody but Jeremy. If Jeremy didn’t love him, who could?

Then again, what is Jeremy had been telling the truth? He didn’t seem to realize that he had been talking to Michael when he’d made his confession. Maybe he really did love Michael, or at least have a little crush. Yeah. A crush. Michael could work with that. 

He totally could. He could picture Jeremy blushing madly against his shoulders, the two of them playing Apocalypse of the Damned, sharing a slurpy. A crush could give him that. 

Love, on the other hand... love could give him everything he’d ever wanted with Jeremy. Love could give him a hand to hold, a reason to buy earbuds (so he and Jeremy could listen to Bob Marley together). Love could give him those same peach-colored lips to kiss. It could give him a pale, lanky boy to kiss and tell sweet nothings too, or even-

A soft, raspy cough from Jeremy brought Michael back to reality.

He had to stop this. 

Jeremy was first and foremost his best friend, and he had to remember that. Sure, he loved him, and maybe Jeremy could be in love with him too, he was sick now, with a high fever and tears and _needs._

There were feelings Michael desperately wanted to unravel, but it would have to wait. What if this fever got higher? No matter what Michael did, it didn’t seem to be lowering. He could keep it stable at best, but never lower, no matter how hard he tried.

Michael pulled himself from Jeremy’s side and went back to work. He peeled the sweat-soaked sweatpants off his heated body and replaced the ice packs. He laid a sheet over Jeremy’s shivering form. He scooped Jeremy back up into his embrace. 

“I know there’s no way you actually love me,” he mumbled. “I know that. But I still... I still wish it was true, y’know? I still wish you loved me the way I love you.”

* * *

 

Michael realized he had fallen asleep once sunlight shone through the blinds. His sleep-crusted eyes cracked open and he instantly felt different. There was a warm - a little too warm - body in his arms, and sweat soaked the both of them.

After a few seconds, he remembered the previous night, most details in tact. He remembered Jeremy’s fever spiking more than once. He remembered the crying, and the feverish not-quite-confession that ripped his heart apart, and he remembered pressing Jeremy close to his chest, the warmth from his fever helping to revive his aching heart.

A whisper brought him back to reality. 

“I meant what I said before,” Jeremy rasped, voice weak from sleep and the fever and everything in between. 

“What?” 

“What I said, when I said I... I hurt you, and I regret that.” 

Michael’s heart sank to the floor-

“And that I love you.”

“Y-you what?” Michael pressed his forehead against Jeremy’s, wondering if his fever was still as high as last night. Wondering if that was why this was _still happening_  to him.

He was still feverish, that much was clear, but Jeremy was so much cooler than last night. 

“Michael, I... I think I’m in love with you.” 

He was blushing like mad. Funny how different his cheeks looked when he blushed, even against the flush of fever. Blush didn’t make his freckled stick out as much as the fever had. 

Michael swallowed hard, his forehead still touching Jeremy’s, just barely. 

“You know what?” he mumbled, leaning inward so the tips of their noses met too.

Jeremy blushed harder, as if that was even possible. He was dizzy with the heat Michael was pouring into him. “Y-Yeah?” 

“I think I’m in love with you too, Jeremy Heere.” 

With that, their lips met. 

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests! Hit me up either on my blog (graceless-fever) or here. ♡  
> Please don't forget to comment if you liked it!


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